


things we never say

by LaMaupin



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, i guess this qualifies as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-13 04:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13562718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaMaupin/pseuds/LaMaupin
Summary: “You can’t keep doing this,” Amaya says softly. “Ignoring your feelings isn’t going to work forever.”“I don’t know,” Sara says, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from her face. “It’s worked pretty well so far.”“Has it?” Amaya asks, clearly unconvinced.--Or: Amaya forces Sara to take a day off





	things we never say

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this one for a while so let's just pretend that it's for femslash february and not just a complete coincidence 
> 
> Special thanks to tumblingforth for letting me bug her during her finals about this and then taking time out to beta it
> 
> Also there are some mentions of some less than healthy coping mechanisms so there's that
> 
> Title from the Bad Bad Hats song of the same name

Sara wakes with a start, hand instinctively going to knife on her nightstand. But there’s no one in her quarters but her. She blinks into the darkness, willing her breathing to steady and her heart to stop racing. 

It’s been a while since her nightmares have been this bad. Not since Laurel died. Which, if she cared to think about it, is probably why they’ve gotten bad again. Stein’s death hangs like a pall over the entire team, and Jax’s departure - while understandable - is an added weight. 

The clock reads nearly 5 am (although what exactly that means in the Temporal Zone she’s still not sure) and she knows from experience that there’s no point in trying to get back to sleep. And well, she’d be up to train in a hour anyways.

The ship feels overly quiet this time of day, before anyone else is awake. (Well, there’s always a good change Nate is working in the library, and Ray had been pulling all-nighters trying to learn how to repair the Waverider lately, but her point still stands.)

She used to like the quiet in the mornings, but now it makes the ship feel empty in a way that it hasn’t since Rip left - the first time - and all it does is serve as a reminder of all the people she wasn’t able to save. Of the hole at the center of her team - her family - that she’s powerless to repair. 

Between that and the being relegated to the Temporal Zone while Ray makes desperately needed repairs, she’s been feeling particularly restless the past few days. She’s never been good at standing still, and even now, with a timeship and a team and a mess of her own making to fix, that old familiar itch to pick up and leave - to go somewhere where no one knows her or her past and start over (again) - prickles at the back of her neck. 

But the thing is, she doesn’t actually want to leave. It’s just that at times like this - when nothing seems to be going right - she can’t help but wonder if they’d be better off without her. (Call it a force of habit if nothing else.)

So she does the only thing she can do and takes it out on the heavy bag. It’s cathartic. Even if she wishes it was Darhk she was punching.

“Isn’t it a little early to go ten rounds with that thing? Even for you?” a voice asks from behind her, startling Sara out of her reverie. 

She pivots into a roundhouse kick that sends the bag swinging before turning around to find Amaya standing in the doorway, fixing Sara with a look she can’t quite decipher. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sara says with a shrug.  

Amaya tilts her head and raises her eyebrows but she has the good grace to not say anything. 

“Your hands,” she says instead, stepping closer and reaching for Sara’s wrist. 

Sara looks down and finds blood staining her knuckles - bright crimson against the white of her hand wraps. 

Now that the buzz of adrenaline is fading she can feel the dull ache in her hands and wrists.  It grounds her - the impact of her knuckles on the bag. Reminds her that violence always takes a toll. That even something that can’t hit back will extract it’s price. Or so she tells herself. 

She shrugs again, and starts undoing the wraps. “I’ll have Gideon take care of them.” 

“You can’t keep doing this,” Amaya says softly. “Ignoring your feelings isn’t going to work forever.”

“I don’t know,” Sara says, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat from her face. “It’s worked pretty well so far.”

“Has it?” Amaya asks, clearly unconvinced. 

Sara sighs. She’s right but admitting it feels more vulnerable than Sara cares to be this early in the morning. “It’s not like I can just take a vacation. Not with Darhk and Mallus and the anachronisms. We have responsibilities. I have responsibilities.”

Amaya raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Gideon, how long until the Waverider is fully operational?”

“At Dr. Palmer’s current rate it will three more days before we can leave the Temporal Zone without risking further damage to the ship,” Gideon reports. 

“I thought you were supposed to be on my side,” Sara grumbles.

“I am on your side, Captain Lance,” Gideon says, chipper as ever. “Your stress levels are dangerously high and your sleep has been disrupted by nightmares every night for the past two weeks.”

Sara sighs and runs her hand through her hair, wincing when the sweat stings the cuts on her knuckles. She really hates it when Gideon gangs up on her. “Traitor.”

“I heard that,” Gideon says. 

Sara scowls at the ceiling but it doesn’t do any good. 

“Take the jump ship for a few days,” Amaya says, trying - and failing - to hide her smile. Since when had her team become so annoying? Maybe Ava was right about them. (And you know it’s bad if she’s agreeing with Ava fucking Sharpe.) “Go do whatever it is you do to relax. We can survive a couple of days without you.” 

“What about the team?” she asks. “I can’t just abandon you. What if something goes wrong?”

It’s a legitimate concern. As much as it pains Sara to admit (and she would never admit it within earshot of anyone from the Time Bureau), they’re not exactly good at their job at the best of times. And no one in their right mind would characterize the past few months as anything close to the best of times. 

But it’s easier than admitting that she’s terrified that if she leaves there will be nothing to come back to. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

“Then we’ll call you,” Amaya says. She reaches out and rests a hand on Sara’s arm, a soft concern in her eyes. “You’re the first one to tell us to take care of ourselves. Let us do the same for you.” 

Sara wants to keep arguing. To tell her that she’s the captain and she’ll do whatever she damn well pleases. But there’s steel in Amaya’s eyes that tells her it’s no use. And frankly she could use a couple days to get her head back on straight. They’re hurtling towards a big fight and she can’t risk her distraction getting someone else killed. 

So she sighs. “Fine. But I’m leaving you in charge and if anything even remotely unusual happens you have to call me.”

Amaya just smiles and Sara wonders if this is such a good idea after all.

***

Sara leans against the table in her office and studies the anachronism map, toying with the idea of taking care of a level one or two by herself. She could use a good fight. And beating up assholes never fails to make her feel better. 

But she’s not some Time Bureau lackey, and all the interesting anachronisms are too big for her to handle alone, even if charging into the middle of the Thirty Years War half-cocked does sound like fun. 

(There is a level 3 involving the Titanic and Joan of Arc that she could probably handle, but she’s been on enough sinking ships for one lifetime.)

She looks around the room, desperate for some sort of inspiration. The picture frame on her desk catches her attention. It’s still face down from when she’d taken it from Ava what feels like forever ago now. 

It’s the only real personal touch Sara added when she became captain. Everything else in the office belongs to Rip, and in truth, so does the office itself. She may be the captain, and this may be her ship now, but there’s something about this space that will always be his, and she’s never been able to bring herself to change that.

(She really is getting sentimental in her old age.)

She picks it up, considering the picture of her, Laurel, and Oliver. It’s old, back from before anything bad had happened to any of them, and they all look so young. So carefree. 

She wonders what Laurel would say if she were here. Probably that none of this is her fault. But then again, Laurel always was the one that was supposed to save the world. 

She sets the picture down, back where it belongs, and turns to the anachronism map, unseeing.

“I hope you’re not thinking about changing your mind.”

Sara turns around and once again finds Amaya, this time with Zari in tow. 

“Don’t worry,” Sara says, gesturing at the map, “just thinking about what to do with my day off.”

Amaya crosses her arms. “Going after an anachronism isn’t the same as taking a break.”  

“What do you suggest I do then?” Sara asks. “This whole day off thing was your idea after all.”

“Did I tell you about the island full of warrior women I found?” Zari says with a mischievous grin. “They would totally love you. Or there’s always Agent Sharpe. And I’m sure she’d be more than willing to help you work some stuff out.”

Amaya gives Zari a disapproving look, and she responds with a wink that can only be described as salacious. Amaya blinks, clearly taken aback, and Sara gets the distinct feeling that she’s witnessing something private. A personal moment not meant for her. 

Thankfully they’re too distracted to notice the way she shifts uncomfortably at Zari’s suggestion about Ava. It’s not like that, but that hasn’t stopped the team for giving her shit about it. (And well, maybe it is a tiny bit like that, but they don’t need to know that.)

She clears her throat, snapping the other two out of their reverie. If you could call it that. It’s more like foreplay if Sara’s being honest. 

Amaya looks almost embarrassed to have been caught out but Zari just seems pleased with herself. 

Why does her team attract so many troublemakers? For once it would be nice to have new members who were less like her and more like literally anyone else. 

“Thanks for the suggestion,” she says, ignoring the sudden awkwardness in the room. “I’m gonna go. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do while I’m gone.”

Amaya raises an eyebrow, and well, she has a point. “Actually, scratch that. Do the opposite of whatever I would do.” 

Zari laughs and Sara can hear a hushed discussion between her and Amaya as she leaves. She makes a mental note to keep an eye on that. 

But for now, she thinks she knows what her first stop is going to be. 

***

The metal of the fire escape is cool against her back as she surveys the alley below her. It’s dark, but there’s enough light filtering in from the street to make out a figure in leather fighting with a pair of guys who had made the unfortunate (for them) decision to try and mug a woman cutting through the alley. 

Sara doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound. Just watches as Laurel - her Laurel - makes short work of the first guy and moves on to the second. She sees hints of her own style in the way Laurel fights - traces of the fact that by this time Laurel’s trained with Nyssa - but Laurel fights with the brutality of the boxer, planting her feet and swinging her baton, knocking the second guy out cold. 

Sara probably shouldn’t have come here - to early 2016, not long after she’d first been recruited by Rip - but she needed to see her sister. To know that there’s some small bubble of time where Laurel’s alive and happy. Even if it comes with an expiration date. 

“You know, most people consider lurking rude,” Laurel says without looking up. 

Sara’s certain she hadn’t made any noise. She must be getting rusty. Or maybe Laurel’s better at this than she’s giving her credit for. 

She jumps down, landing lightly. “I’m lucky we’re not most people then.” 

Laurel closes the space between them and wraps her in a hug. “I should have known it was you.” 

It takes all of Sara’s strength not to completely break down. She never thought she’d get to hug her sister again. She holds on for dear life, as if she can keep Laurel alive by sheer force of will. 

But eventually Laurel pulls back, and Sara’s forced to let go. 

“Hey,” Laurel says, reaching out and brushing a tear that Sara didn’t even realize she’d shed from her cheek. “Are you okay?”

Sara swallows thickly, willing herself not to cry. She succeeds but only just. “I missed you.”

She realizes her mistake when Laurel tilts her head, giving her a curious look. “I missed you too, but it’s only been like three weeks since you left.”

Shit. This is why she hadn’t planned on talking to her. But now that Laurel’s hand is warm against her cheek she can’t bring herself to regret it. 

“Time travel,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s been three weeks for you but longer for me.”

“Ah,” Laurel says, but she’s got that same sort of mildly confused look that everyone does when they try and think too hard about time travel. “So, how long are you in town for?”

“Just passing through,” Sara says, doing her best to ignore the disappointment that flashes across Laurel’s face. 

More than anything Sara wishes she could stay. Could protect her family from the pain she knows is coming. But she made her choice a long time ago and now she has to live with it. 

“But I’ve got enough time for dinner,” she says. “If you’re done taking care of these creeps.” 

Laurel beams and it’s the lightest Sara’s felt in what feels like forever.

***

“Okay question,” Laurel says between mouthfuls of egg drop soup. “You said earlier than it’s been longer for you. How long?”

They’re at the dingy hole-in-the-wall Chinese place in the Glades that Sara frequented when she first came back to Starling - Star City. 

(By far the weirdest thing about dying was coming back to find the name of her hometown had changed.)

Sara shrugs. Gideon keeps them synced up to the timeline relative to when they left, but even so it’s not the easiest answer. “Chronologically about two years I think? But more like four if you count the two years I was stuck in the fifties.”

“Oh god you must have hated that,” Laurel says with a barely concealed laugh. 

Sara rolls her eyes and goes back to her lo mein. 

“Four years though,” Laurel says after a moment. “That’s a long time.”

“It is,” she agrees. “But at least I’m captain now.”

“Someone thought putting you in charge of a time ship was a good idea?” Laurel asks, raising her eyebrows. 

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” 

Laurel shrugs. “Just that I remember when you managed to kill your class hamster after having it for all of what? A day?”

“In my defense,” Sara says. “I was ten.”

Laurel laughs and Sara wonders how she went for so long without hearing her sister laugh. 

They go back to their food, and Sara soaks in Laurel’s presence, wishing it could last forever.

“Sooo,” Laurel says after a while, smiling in a way that makes Sara groan. “Anyone special in your life?”

“Really?” 

“What? The last time you disappeared you came back with a scary assassin girlfriend.” 

“Aren’t you and Nyssa friends now?” Sara asks. But she has a point. Not that Sara’s going to admit it. “Anyways, I’m captain of a time travelling group of superhero rejects. I don’t exactly have time to date.”

Laurel gets the determined look Sara recognizes from whenever Laurel finds a problem to be solved. She reminds herself that she loves and misses her sister.

“What about Ray Palmer,” Laurel says and Sara nearly chokes on her food. “He’s handsome.”

“God no,” Sara says once she recovers from her coughing fit. “He’s like my brother. Plus I can’t date anyone on the team. That would be weird.”

The thought of doing, well anything, with one of the Legends makes her skin crawl. She loves them all, but that’s just gross. (The one exception being Kendra, but she got her life together and left the team so it doesn’t count.)

Laurel rolls her eyes, and Sara feels the sudden need to defend herself. “It’s not like I’m meeting a lot of eligible people. It’s pretty much just the team, random historical figures, and Ava.”

“Who’s Ava?” Laurel asks in a way that makes Sara wish she could prevent Laurel’s death for the express purpose of killing her herself. 

“She’s no one,” Sara says, waving it off. 

It’s not an answer, but Ava’s complicated. Even for her. And she’d rather not explain the not quite friendship that’s developed between them. 

Laurel raises an eyebrow. “She doesn’t sound like no one.”

This is why she hated have a lawyer for a sister. Laurel never could leave well enough alone.

“There’s not much to say,” Sara says with a shrug. “She works for the Time Bureau. She’s annoying. She keeps trying to arrest me.”

But that’s not quite fair. Ava had also helped with the whole Beebo thing, and she’d saved Sara from Mallus. And well, Sara knows her own team well enough to know that they’re a handful on a good day, so she can probably be forgiven for not trusting them. 

“And she’s helpful sometimes too I guess,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

“Sounds like a woman after your heart,” Laurel says with a knowing smile.

“What? No,” Sara says, more defensive than she intends. “I don’t like Ava.”

And she doesn’t. 

It’s not that she couldn’t. She sees the tender way Ava looks at her when she thinks no one is watching. But Ava’s well...she’s Ava. She’s obnoxious and she’s way too into rules and she’s a cat person for God’s sake. 

“You totally do,” Laurel teases. “You have that same look on your face that you did back in high school when you insisted you didn’t like Jeremy Pratt. And what did I walk in on not two weeks later? You and Jeremy Pratt doing something I really wish I could forget.”

“It’s not like that,” Sara insists, suddenly uncomfortable with where this is going. God, she’d forgotten how annoying Laurel could be. Why did she think this was a good idea again?

“Sure it isn’t,” Laurel says, unconvinced. 

Sara sighs. She knows from experience that there’s no use arguing. And well, she’d brought this on herself. 

She shakes her head, but she can’t keep the affectionate smile off her face. Because no matter how obnoxious Laurel’s being, she’s here. Alive and happy and giving Sara shit just like always. And for the moment, that’s enough. 

After dinner they linger in the street for long enough to be awkward, neither of them willing to say goodbye quite yet. 

It’s Laurel who finally breaks the silence. “Don’t be a stranger.”

A wave a guilt washes over Sara at the way she says it. At the hint of sadness in her voice. As if she knows, on some level, that this is goodbye. Again.

“I’m sorry for being such a shit sister,” Sara says, fighting to keep her voice from cracking. “You deserve better than someone who keeps running away.”

“Hey, no,” Laurel says, voice soft. “You always come back, and that’s what matters.”

Sara nods, not trusting her voice. She doesn’t deserve Laurel. She never has. 

Laurel wraps her in a hug, and Sara wishes it didn’t have to end.

But it’s over too soon, and before she knows it, Sara’s watching Laurel walk off into the dark. 

Fuck. She really needs a drink. 

***

She finds the nearest, shittiest bar and downs four shots of cheap whiskey as fast as she can, taking comfort in the way the liquor burns down her throat and settles in her stomach.

She sits at the bar and nurses another drink, hoping to dull the pain of leaving Laurel to her fate. But instead the alcohol just sharpens its edges. 

She’s so fucking tired. Tired of having to hold on so goddamn tight to everything she holds dear only to have it slip away anyways. Tired of knowing that it’s all her own damn fault.

(Maybe drinking alone wasn’t the best idea she’s ever had.)

There’s a guy across the bar eyeing her, and she considers it, because what else is she gonna do with her night off? But he’s a bit too polished for her taste. She likes her men a bit rougher around the edges. 

And besides, she can’t get what Laurel said about Ava out of her head. 

She’d be lying if she said she’d never considered it. Because when Ava’s not scowling she’s actually fairly attractive, and she’s been scowling a lot less lately. 

But, well, Sara still doesn’t trust the Time Bureau, and with the Darhks and Mallus still out there she really can’t afford to get distracted. Anymore than she already is. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself. 

Her phone’s in her hand before she has enough time to think better of it. Which is probably a bad idea, but she’s drunk enough not to care. And brooding was always more of Oliver’s thing anyways.

Ava picks up on the third ring, her voice rough as if she’d been asleep. “What did you do this time?” 

“Nothing,” Sara says. “Why do you always assume I fucked something up? Maybe you fucked something up and I’m calling to yell at you.”

Ava sighs. “What do you want Sara?” 

“I have the night off and you should come get drunk with me,” Sara says, getting straight to the point.

“No thanks,” Ava says and Sara can practically hear her eye roll. 

“You’re no fun.”

“I try not to be.” There’s a pause, and then, “What do you mean you have the night off?”

“I mean Amaya kicked me off the ship and told me I have to take a break or whatever,” Sara says. That is what happened after all. 

The line goes quiet, and when Ava speaks again her voice is softer, concern replacing her usual exasperation. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Even Sara doesn’t believe it, but whatever. “What I am doing is getting drunk, which is just kind of depressing to do alone, which is why you need to come drink with me.”

She can hear Ava huff out an annoyed sigh. “Where are you? Actually, no. When are you?”

“February 2016,” she says. It feels almost like an admission, but of what she’s not sure. “But to answer your first question, I’m in this horrible dive in the Glades. But the drinks are cheap, and the music isn’t horrible. Probably a bit casual for you though. Not a poly blend pantsuit in sight.”

“Wait, you’re in Star City in early 2016?” Ava asks, that same concern back in her voice.

“Yep,” she says. “That’s what I said.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Sara hears the rustle of movement in the background before the line goes dead. 

Huh. She’s honestly surprised that that worked. 

Before she can congratulate herself the door opens and Ava steps into the bar. She looks a bit rumpled, like she’d just rolled out of bed, and well, she probably had. But it’s not a bad look on her. 

“Avaaa,” Sara says, drawing out her name just to annoy her. It works too, because Ava frowns. “I’ve already had many drinks so you’re gonna need to catch up.”

She signals the bartender, but Ava waves him off. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

“I can’t go home, I told you,” Sara says, “Amaya kicked me out and if I go back before it’s even been a day she’s gonna give me that I’m not mad I’m just disappointed look she has.”

“It’s good to know you left an adult in charge at least,” Ava says, shaking her head and looking altogether too amused. 

Sara rolls her eyes. “Regardless, I can’t go back to the ship, so you’re gonna have to drink.”

And people always said that Laurel was the smart one.

Ava, however, seems unconvinced. “Or, you can sleep this off at my place.”

“I like my idea better,” Sara says.

Ava crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows. It’s a look she’s given Sara countless times before, often enough that she’s pretty much immune to it at this point. But something about seeing it out of context - with Ava wearing yoga pants and a Columbia hoodie and standing in a shitty dive bar - gets past Sara’s defenses. 

And besides, she doesn’t want to be alone tonight, and Ava’s extending something - friendship maybe. And she’s not exactly in a position to turn that down. Especially not tonight. 

“Fine,” Sara says, standing up.

For a moment the room spins around her, and she has to brace herself against the bar. 

Ava takes a step towards her, as if to help, but she stops herself, hand hovering an inch from Sara’s waist. “Are you okay?”

Sara blinks and the world stabilizes. Apparently she’s drunker than she realized. 

“I’m good,” she says, waving off Ava’s concern and heading outside. 

There’s bite to the night air that brings Sara back to herself. She breathes it in and lets the familiar scent of the Glades - garbage and stale urine and car exhaust - ground her. 

She’s not exactly sure when this city stopped feeling like home. If it was her death or Laurel’s or the damn name change that finally did it. But even here - in a time when everyone she cares about it still here, still alive - it feels more like one of the countless anonymous places she’s passed through than a place she belongs. 

“Where’s your jump ship?” Ava asks, following Sara out of the bar.

“Top of a parking garage over on fifth,” Sara says. “But why does it matter? Just portal us and I’ll pick it up in the morning.”

“Oh yeah, let’s leave a giant piece of future tech out for anyone to find. Great plan,” Ava says with a scoff. “Need I remind you that this city is crawling with vigilantes?”

Sara feels a sudden surge of affection for Ava. For the way she acts so done with Sara’s shit but at the same time matches her blow for blow. But maybe that’s just the alcohol talking.

“Yeah yeah, you made your point,” Sara says, rolling her eyes, glad for the darkness. 

The trip to Ava’s place (by way of the Time Bureau to park the jump ship, which she really hopes Gideon never finds out about because she’s still touchy about the Bureau and frankly, Sara can’t blame her) doesn’t take long, but by the time Ava opens a portal to her apartment Sara’s beginning to wonder why she agreed to this. 

“And here I thought Agent Ava Sharpe slept at her desk,” Sara says, taking it in.

The apartment is small - a single bedroom with a kitchen about the size of a matchbox and an adjoining living room - but aside from a blanket thrown haphazardly across the sofa and a pile of mail on the coffee table it doesn’t exactly feel lived in. 

Ava ignores her, instead bending down and scooping up a large black and white cat. Because of course Ava has a cat. Sara doesn’t even know why she’s surprised. 

“Hey buddy,” Ava says - to the damn cat. “Sorry I had to leave. My idiot friend needed a place to crash.”

The cat stares at Sara and she swears she sees violence in its beady little eyes. She stares back, darling it to look away.

God she hates cats. 

“Are you staring down my cat?” Ava asks, breaking their stalemate. 

Sara looks up and crosses her arms. “Cats are basically tiny assassins. And just like with assassins you gotta establish dominance.” 

Ava puts the cat down and fixes Sara with a look that’s halfway between bemused and concerned. “No. Not at all. How drunk are you?”

“Sober enough to know never to trust a cat,” Sara says, flopping down on the couch. 

Ava just shakes her head and hands Sara a glass of water. “Drink this. I’ll get you something to sleep in.”

She disappears into the bedroom, but the cat continues to eye Sara suspiciously. Little jerk. 

By the time Ava returns, pajamas in hand, Sara’s finished the water and is busy removing the various knives from her person, laying them out of the coffee table. 

“How many of those do you have?” Ava asks, eyeing them suspiciously.

Sara pulls the last one out with a flourish. “The normal amount.” 

“You do realize that zero knives is the normal amount of knives right?” Ava says, although there’s amusement in her voice. “Also, was that in your bra?”

“Where else would I keep it?” Sara sets it down next to the others and stands, stripping off her shirt. She smirks when she catches the way Ava’s eyes trail down her abdomen. 

Ava looks away when she notices Sara watching her, a blush rising in her cheeks, and suddenly it’s all too much. She’s so fucking tired of trying only to have none of it matter. No matter what she does her friends leave and her family dies and she’s left alone to try and hold everything together. 

But Ava’s here. Standing there, holding a pair of pajamas, looking at her like she actually cares. And that’s not nothing. It can’t be. 

And for once she wants to be reckless. Wants to throw caution to the wind and not give a damn about consequences. She’s had enough of being the responsible one. 

So she closes the distance between them and kisses Ava. Her lips are chapped and she tastes faintly of toothpaste, but she’s soft under Sara’s mouth, kissing her back with a quiet sigh. Sara shivers as Ava’s free hand ghost up her bare side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

After a minute Ava pulls back. Sara tries to follow, but Ava stops her, and a hand firm on chest. “Not like this. You don’t want it to be like this.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Sara says, licking her lips and looking up at Ava. “I know what I want. What I want is this. You.”

Ava bites her lip, but she steps back, shaking her head. “You’re drunk. And emotional. I’m not...I want...not like this.”

Sara’s about to protest, but the look on Ava’s face stops her. It’s not quite pity. Sympathy maybe. Laced with real concern. God. Just how did she get here? 

“Yeah, uh, okay,” she says, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Ava says, handing her the pajamas she’s still holding. “Good night, Sara.”

She retreats to the bedroom, leaving Sara standing in the middle of the living room, holding borrowed pajamas and wondering just why she cares so much.

***

Sara wakes to someone standing over her in the darkness, a hand on her shoulder. 

She grabs a knife from the coffee table and has it to their throat before she can do much more than register the unfamiliar surroundings. 

“Sara. Sara, hey. It’s okay, it’s only me,” a familiar voice says.

Sara blinks, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. The figure resolves into Ava, a worried look on her face. 

She takes a steadying breath and drops the knife. “Ava?”

“You were having a nightmare,” Ava says. “The screaming woke me up.”

“Shit, sorry.” She sits up, pulling her knees up to her chest. The details of the dream are foggy, but she remembers seeing Laurel at her feet, arrows sticking out of her chest. An old standard. 

Ava shakes her head, perching on the edge of the couch. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” This whole night has already been embarrassing enough, without Ava knowing about what makes her wake up screaming. Fuck, she can’t catch a fucking break can she?

“Okay,” Ava says, standing up and offering Sara a hand. “Come on.”

Sara just looks at her, not understanding. There’s a headache building behind her eyes - the first traces of a hangover - and she really just wants to go back to sleep. 

“You really think I’m going to let you spend the rest of the night out here?” Ava asks, traces of her usual exasperation back in her voice. 

“Yeah.” 

Ava looks away, the predawn light filtering in through the window illuminating her profile. When she looks back, Sara can’t make out her expression in the dark. “You really must think I’m an asshole.”

Her tone is more sad than anything. 

Sara could laugh at the irony. “No, it’s just...you don’t have to do this. Take care of me.”

“I know.”

Ava offers her hand again, and this time Sara takes it, letting Ava pull her up and lead her into the bedroom.

“Watch out for Mr. Boyfriend,” Ava says, gesturing to the cat who is somehow managing to take up the entire half of the bed. 

“You named your cat Mr. Boyfriend?” Sara asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well he is the most important man in my life,” Ava says as she rouses the cat in question, picking him up and gently setting him on the floor. He stretches and leaves to find somewhere else to sleep, offended at having been moved.

Sara laughs softly and slides into bed where the cat had previously been. 

“You didn’t bring any knives with you, did you?” Ava asks. 

“No,” Sara says, looking over at her. “But I do know at least fifteen different ways to kill you barehanded.” 

Ava narrows her eyes, but when she speaks there’s affection in her voice. “Don’t make me regret this, Lance.”

Sara settles back, not bothering with a response. 

“Thanks,” she says after a while, her voice soft. 

A long moment passes, long enough for Sara to think that Ava must be asleep, before Ava’s voice comes out of the darkness next to her. 

“Of course.” 

***

Sunlight is streaming through the window when Sara wakes up, and she slowly becomes aware of a warm weight on her chest. She opens her eyes to find Ava’s cat sitting on her, watching her intently. 

Before she can move he reaches out and gently places his paw on her cheek, the tips of his claws pressing ever so lightly against her skin. It’s the clearest threat she’s ever seen. And she did two tours in the League of Assassins. 

Ava’s already gone, and Sara doesn’t want to risk the cat’s wrath, so she doesn’t move. 

Even with the hangover that serves as a visceral reminder of the night before, it’s not the worst way to wake up. Despite how much it pains her to admit it, the cat is kind of cute, and Ava’s bed is pretty comfortable. Better than the couch at least. 

She’s not quite sure how she managed to so thoroughly embarrass herself last night, but if the pounding in her head is any indicator, getting drunk and trying to kiss her - coworker? friend? Ava? - wasn’t the best idea she’s ever had. 

But even with that hanging over her she feels better than she had before. Lighter. Seeing Laurel hadn’t given her closure but it did remind her that there were still things worth fighting for. Worth dying for. Her sister was still out there, fighting to make the world a better place. She just had to know where to look. 

They stay like that for a while, until Mr. Boyfriend (what a dumb name) finally stretches, gives her one last look, and hops down, curling up in the spot Ava vacated. 

Sara gets up, drawn to the kitchen by the smell of food. She finds Ava there, making eggs. It’s all so domestic Sara doesn’t know what to do with herself. 

She settles for leaning against the doorframe and giving Ava an appraising look. “You cook too?”

“You know I do have a life that doesn’t revolve around fixing your team’s fuck ups,” Ava says, handing her a cup of coffee.

“Unlikely.” 

Ava just shakes her head and sets two plates of eggs on the table. “Eat. You look like shit.”

Sara doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Between the food and the coffee she feels almost human again. Human enough to feel a more than a little out of place sitting in Ava’s kitchen in borrowed pajamas.

It does make her wonder what her life could have been. If not for the Gambit would this feel less strange? Would she just be a normal thirtysomething (emphasis on the something because between dying and time travel Sara’s not exactly sure how old she is anymore) spending the morning with a friend? But well, she’d given up any semblance of normalcy a long time ago. 

She looks up to find Ava watching her over her coffee mug. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Sara sighs. “You really need to stop asking me that.”

“Why?” Ava tilts her head and just looks at Sara. Really looks at her. Like she actually wants to know.

Sara fiddles with her fork, uncomfortable with the tenderness in Ava’s eyes. “Because I just might starting thinking that you care.”

“I do care.” 

She says it softly, an unasked question hanging between them. 

But Sara doesn’t know how to tell her that she’s terrified of letting someone in only to lose them. She can only take so much death, so much betrayal and abandonment. She learned that the hard way.

So instead she stands and starts gathering her clothes. “I should get back to the ship. I probably shouldn’t leave the team without adult supervision for much longer.”

Ava just nods, watching her like she knows all the things Sara’s not saying.

Once Sara’s dressed - complete with all of her knives - Ava portals them back to the Time Bureau, where the jump ship is waiting to take her back to the Waverider. 

“Thanks,” Sara says, hovering outside of the ship. “For letting me crash at your place.”

“Anytime.”

“And I really am sorry,” Sara continues. “About last night. You were right. I was...not in my right mind. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I get it,” Ava says, shaking her head. When she meets Sara’s eyes again she looks almost nervous. Which is strange because Ava Sharpe is many things, but nervous isn’t one of them. “But for the record, I’d be okay with it.”

It’s an invitation. A hand held out for her to take. 

All of her instincts are screaming at her to run. To protect herself. To go back to her ship and her team and her mission and not risk more heartbreak than she already has. Not risk giving yet another person the power to hurt her. 

But if the Legends have taught her anything it’s that loving people is worth the risk. Worth the pain. 

So for the second time in as many days she throws caution to the wind. 

This time there’s no hesitation. This time Ava kisses her back - really kisses her back - and god, how had it taken them this long? 

How had it taken her this long? 

This time when Ava pulls back she smiles down at Sara, who shivers at the naked affection in her eyes. Although it doesn’t scare her nearly as much as she thought it would. “You should get back. Before your team breaks time again.”

Sara rolls her eyes. “You break time once and no one ever lets you forget.”

Ava laughs and shakes her head. “Go home, Sara.”

She can’t help but smile as she turns back to the jump ship. She resists the urge to steal one last glance back at Ava as the door closes, but if she does, and Ava’s standing there, smiling to herself, well, no one’s the wiser. 

***

She finds Amaya in the office, studying the anachronism map. 

“Do I need to worry about a mutiny?” Sara asks, leaning against the desk. 

“God no,” Amaya says, sounding mildly horrified. “It’s only been a day and already Zari and Ray almost destroyed the time drive, Nathaniel nearly got himself killed trying to help, and I’m fairly certain Leo and Rory are up to something, and frankly, I don’t want to know what.”

Sara laughs. “Sounds about right.” 

“I never want your job,” Amaya says.

“I always knew you were the smart one.” 

Amaya shakes her head and smiles. “I assume this means your day off went well.”

“You were right,” she says, because well, she does feel better. More centered. And for the first time in longer than she cares to admit she has something to look forward to. “So thanks for that.” 

Amaya gives her a knowing look, and not for the first time Sara wonders just when she became so transparent. It’s getting obnoxious. “You’re allowed to be happy. You know that right?”

And the thing is, Sara believes her. Or wants to at least. But well, there’s still the entire timeline to save and she doesn’t want to get ahead of herself. 

“One thing at a time,” she says, turning back to the anachronism map. “Right now, we have some sort of evil time demon to defeat. Suggestions?”

Amaya fixes her attention back on the map, and they lapse into silence. For the first time in a while Sara finds comfort in the quiet, in the hum of the ship and the familiar rhythms of her team. 

They’re not whole yet, and there’s work still to be done, but for now, it’s good to be home. 

**Author's Note:**

> My greatest regret in life was not being able to adopt a three legged tuxedo cat named Mr. Boyfriend that a friend of mine was fostering. I think about that cat a lot.
> 
> My own cat has pulled the power move of sitting on my chest and gently putting her paw on my face, so that particular power move is based on true events
> 
> As always you can find me on tumblr at blackholesymposium


End file.
